


Hardships and Delights

by TexasDreamer01



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Creative Interpretations of Force Training, Dogs, Elements of Japanese Culture, Gen, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Hug, Obi-Wan Needs a Hug, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Force, Wooley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 13:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13459605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TexasDreamer01/pseuds/TexasDreamer01
Summary: Taking a break from the war to prevent another war - nothing unusual for the likes of Obi-Wan Kenobi. This time, however, he had intended to stay firmly on the diplomatic side of things.





	Hardships and Delights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pandora151](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandora151/gifts).



> [苦あれば楽あり](https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Japanese_proverbs) \- "ku areba raku ari"; meaning "There are hardships and there are delights."
> 
> [Tumblr reblog link](https://neostriatum.tumblr.com/post/170040305574/hardships-and-delights)

The mission hadn't gone _badly_ , per se, but- well, it was awful. While the plan was further out from the pocket of tricks Obi-Wan usually employed for handling the thorny politics of war, he doubted that quite literally going for a walk with the local assortment of nobles wasn't supposed to land them in the middle of a battlefield.

Or rather, the battlefield had landed in the middle of them. He huffed, the memory abrading the ragged tatters of his patience. The midday meal had become strained, as was the wont of opposing political factions. Suggesting a break to get some fresh air was well-received, and the assemblage hadn't gone far, still well within the boundaries of the city.

Gilded walls and towers at many corners provided an opulent, albeit worn, contrast to the smattering of carefully-tended flora. Obi-Wan, from his position near the edge of the group, had the time to appreciate such a dichotomy — it gave him a measure of hope that the talks would resume on a better note. That even the poorest quarters in this war-touched city valued flowers to gold meant that a united sense of- of _beauty_ , of _providence_ , gave earnestness to the peace that they sought.

Settling into the eddies that these fonts of the Living Force created, letting it deepen his smile as he discussed the nuances of flower arrangement with a couple of the envoys, Obi-Wan was unprepared for the resonating thunder of ion cannons breaching the nearest city wall.

The concussive booms stole his breath, the dust of debris filling his lungs instead of air. Precious seconds blurred away as he struggled past his body's initial reaction of terror. He wheezed, forcing himself to straighten — the haze of smoke and soot made it difficult to get his bearings. Ignoring the watering of his eyes, Obi-Wan allowed the heavy ball of adrenaline to sink into relative obscurity, the Force flowing toward his senses in a sluggish trickle.

He diverted it first into stilling the bone-wracking spasms in his lungs; the extra oxygen was welcome, and he paced the deep breaths carefully, balancing the receding mental fog with the increased flood of the Force. It was careful manipulation in a way that he knew his old Master rarely approved of outside verbal sparring. The reflexive yoke of Qui-Gon's teachings made his connection with the Force stutter, and he ignored that, too, favouring instead a search for survivors.

Faint knots in the Force that indicated a complex, sentient mind weren't far from him, and for a brief moment he wondered if it meant the teeter of life or the weakness of his own Force-sense. A measured, deep breath, and he pushed those thoughts away, too. The lack of hostility was more important — Obi-Wan tread carefully, trusting that each step was the correct one.

It was meditative, almost. The pain of the wounded and dying, the far-away steely determination of those manning the cannons; Obi-Wan let the tangle of emotions slide through and off him, worn boots finding footholds and hands clinging to minute divots in the chaotic scramble of rubble with single-minded unfocus. _There is no passion, there is serenity_.

When his fingers felt the wrinkle of torn finery, it felt a bit like victory, and he grasped whole-handedly at whomever wore it. The sounds of groaning protest were heartening. Obi-Wan grinned, hauling the found diplomat to their feet. They swayed, clinging to him, and for a moment the two drew strength against the weight of the other. Then the boom of a cannon resounded, forcing them to scramble for cover.

Despite the chaos, it was easier to see now, and Obi-Wan shoved his foundling toward the alcove of jumbled pourstone and twisted metal frame. Both of them stumbled toward it, collapsing under its shelter just as the world whited out again with a deafening clap. It upended a low retaining wall nearby, dragging its decorative pillars down — the dust it kicked up kept either Obi-Wan or the local from cursing.

Clutching at the rivulet of the Force available through his wheezing, Obi-Wan twisted a fist into his lap, feeling the abrupt urge to laugh at his firm reassurances that he needed no escort of troopers. _Cody is going to_ _kill_ _me._ He had no idea how much he owed Cody, but the amount of sabacc he would need to win in order to secure some rotgut (that the 212th most definitely didn't produce in the bowels of the _Negotiator_ ) would be tremendous, and he believed the smoothest way to ameliorate his commander's displeasure.

“Aren’t- aren’t you going to do... something?”

The wavering words snapped Obi-Wan out of his rambling thoughts. _Not good. Concussion?_ It was dim in their alcove, and turning in what he thought was the appropriate direction made his thoughts flicker with a sparkle of pain. _Concussion. Dammit_.

“There is little to be done against a cannon,” He replied, weariness from the day softening the terseness in his tone. A rustle of raiment could barely be heard over the percussive havoc, steps that only his dampened connection to the Force alerted him to growing closer, and it wasn’t until the warmth of another body hovered by his side that Obi-Wan realized that his words weren’t at their sharpest. Resigning himself to the loss of a successful negotiation, loose debris rattling ominously around them in the familiar patter of a nearby battleground, he let himself lean into the crevices of shattered stone.

At the very least, he thought, feeling like a bruised fruit was better than the coughing from earlier – Anakin’s earnest recommendation of pocketing a scarf during one eventful trip to a desert was gaining more merit the longer the war went on. Smiling exacerbated the low thud in his head, but the fondness that accompanied his padawan’s casual affection was worth it. _I should… let Anakin pick one out_.

Such a mental image drowned out the ever-present pulse of his agitated nerves, and he let it reel him along, ignoring the muscles complaining in a familiar staccato as they kept him in what passed for a comfortable position. Anakin would pick either the gaudiest thing that caught his eyes, or something he hoped would blend in with the “boring” palette of sands and beiges that comprised Obi-Wan’s clothing. Either way, it would be thoughtful in its practicality – a language they could both share with ease – and he’d be damned if he didn’t wear it like a good luck charm just to see the beaming grin on the boy’s face.

No- a man. A young man, one he was irrepressibly _proud_ of, thrown into a war that Obi-Wan knew in his bones that he could survive but loathed not being able to shield Anakin from its inevitable horrors nevertheless. It made his heart ache, seeing how the short years ground that spark down. That towheaded child burning with all the light of his homeland’s twin suns and determined to burn out the darkness in other’s lives was slipping away, the flicker of childhood losing its sway to the encroaching fact that the galaxy’s happy endings were becoming rarer by the day. If bringing back the little Ani that Qui-Gon entrusted him with meant indulging every single whimsy that his padawan found from Corellia to Hoth after this war was over, then he would gladly accept such a minuscule price.

He flexed his hands, feeling the tendons stretch with their usual amount of protest, the Force waxing and washing over his mind. It was a refreshing distraction, and he cast his senses out as far as he dared. His company was quiet, a meditative silence to them that betrayed only a contemplative reflection at such an acute change of plans. It relaxed the set of Obi-Wan’s own stance, grateful for the calm demeanour so often absent from politicians when confronted with turmoil. There was strength to it, and for a few moments he floated on those gentle waves, focus gradually returning to him in the light meditation.

Coming towards them was some Force signature. It was neither one of the other members of their erstwhile party, nor… tall enough? Obi-Wan felt himself frown, one hand drifting absently to his saber hilt as he investigated the mystery. There was no ill-will that he could sense, and the random pattern of stopping and going was strange. His first thought was a scout, but this being followed no method that he knew of, no indication that this was friend of foe. Alertness forced him to shuffle between the entrance and the diplomat, stirring both their attention and that of their approaching guest when his boots crunched upon pebbles.

Ready as Obi-Wan could be with clouds of dust dimming his view and ribs giving some very convincing arguments to stay put, it was the sudden bark that startled him the most. The noble behind him swore uncharacteristically in astonishment, and he felt a twitch of amusement at the resulting thump and grunt of bumping into the pourstone of their shelter.

Element of surprise thus ruined, a shadow quickly loomed upon them, revealing a rather dirty-looking animal. It barked again, and Obi-Wan stepped forward. Beneath the grey dust was silver fur, much softer than he had anticipated, and had to crack a smile over how the entire creature seemed to squirm from head to tail at the attention, scrambling closer to him with unabashed joy ringing in the Force. Nearly getting knocked over in its excitement proved interesting enough that his companion shuffled from behind the cover he provided to watch as Obi-Wan sat and tried to coax the animal into being at least moderately still.

“It appears that we are _your_ foundlings, aren’t we?” He said fondly, having eventually coaxed it to sit beside him. The squirming had abated to enthusiastic swishing of its tail, but it was quieter, now, something his headache thanked him for. Obi-Wan turned to his other companion, “They’re awfully friendly. Would you happen to know what animal it is?”

The diplomat moving closer proved exciting to their newcomer, and Obi-Wan’s poorly stifled laugh at the scene the two made didn’t go unnoticed, if how their own good humor was revealed with a grin. Running a hand through the animal’s fur, they gave it a scratch behind the ears before letting it trot back to him, “Dogs are a very common pet. This breed is particularly popular with farmers outside the city for helping chase off birds from their crops,” Their voice was nostalgic; Obi-Wan let his hand rest against dusty fur, “Very rarely are they seen outside their homes, however. It appears this one was driven away by the fighting.”

“Dogs...” Obi-Wan wracked his memory, but the latent pulsing in his head surged with the effort. He sighed, letting the waylaid animal whine and slump against him when the sounds of fighting intruded upon their conversation. Its warmth seeped through his robes, and the usual scolding that would accompany further marring of the ceremonial clothes provided for the negotiations died on his tongue, the placated woof against his shoulder melting away the protest. Shifting so that his head rested more comfortably against the rubble, and making sure that the dog didn’t jostle his lightsaber strapped discreetly against his forearm, he peered up at the other, “I suppose its family will be looking for it?”

“No.” The firm certainty surprised Obi-Wan. They settled down next to him, robes plucked and rearranged absently, before a ringed finger pointed at the worn ribbon he had assumed was decoration, “These dogs- they never leave their family. I was quite surprised to see it, for the only time they leave the family’s home is with a member of the family. Children, usually. That this one is here at all, alone, tells of the devastation its family faced.”

Sourness curdled Obi-Wan’s stomach. In the back of his mind, he knew that grief was inescapable, following the edges of battle – but this was a rare time where death came not in the form of bodies or piles of new scrap metal, but its living remnant. He was grateful for the cover that the dog unintentionally provided; it hid how his fingers curled into the soft fur, head leaning briefly against its own. _There is no death, there is the Force_. The words didn’t assuage him very much. They rarely did.

He was roused from his fugue by the diplomat speaking again, a smile in their words, “There is an old superstition about this breed. Because they are known as- I believe ‘silver’ is the correct word – silvered-walkers, it is believed that they are spirits, come to defend mortals against evil spirits. They are attracted to mortals with kind souls; compassionate individuals who would without their help face many burdens.” A nod in his direction made Obi-Wan realize that the dog had situated itself so that there was scarcely a bit of himself left uncovered. There was no opportunity to gape, for they continued, “Many stories are told concurring this, passing from village to village, and have been since the breed was first discovered. It is… considered a stroke of luck to be chosen by one. That a foreigner has one for a companion speaks well of your earnestness of helping us, and bodes well for resolving the treaty discussion.”

The careful words were an unexpected surprise; they rivaled the warmth of his apparently new defender, and he smiled at how the Force threaded itself into his senses, a quiet feeling of rightness realigning his jangled nerves. It bolstered his flagging mood, and he noticed that the dust was beginning to settle, signaling the end of the conflict. Obi-Wan moved to stand, the- _his_ dog whining in complaint. He laughed, running a placating hand along its head.

When a new signature appeared within range of his senses, Obi-Wan met it with a relaxed stance, its familiarity tugging the edges of his lips into a fuller smile. Orange-splashed plastoid greeted the group, and he could tell the precise moment that the trooper recognized who he had found by the crisp salute, “General Kenobi! It’s good to see you, sir.”

He grinned cheerily at the man, waiting as their position was relayed through the comms, “Wooley. It’s good to see you, as well. I trust Commander Cody has been updated on the outcome of the battle? Do you know how many of the delegation has been found?”

“Yessir,” The trooper nodded, helmet obscuring his expression. A brief glance at the dog betrayed what Obi-Wan could tell was puzzlement, but he supposed it was a mark to how often odd situations occurred around him that Wooley quickly dismissed it in favour of escorting them away from their temporary shelter, “The commander said something about an unhealthy amount of sabacc…? And we’ve been working with the local guards on locating everybody – there’s a rendezvous point not far from here. Are there any injuries I need to report, General?”

Obi-Wan chuckled and glanced at the diplomat, who shook their head, “Nothing that can’t wait.” His dog circled around them, sniffing at Wooley’s armor, woofing in satisfaction before returning to his side. He rested a hand atop its head, gesturing to the impromptu battlefield, “Lead the way, trooper.”

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine the dog that finds Obi-Wan is some fantastical mix between a [Shikoku](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shikoku_dog) ([x](http://www.dogbreedslist.info/all-dog-breeds/Shikoku-dog.html#.WmdPg1SnHIV)) and a [West Siberian Laika](http://www.dogbreedslist.info/all-dog-breeds/West-Siberian-Laika.html#.WmdPgVSnHIV). Of course, this being a fantasy breed, I think a true blue of sorts would not be out of place. An actual silver-coated dog would look _so cool_.
> 
> Come say hello on [tumblr](http://texasdreamer01.tumblr.com/)! I have a [writing blog](https://neostriatum.tumblr.com/) there, too, feel free to chat about fic!


End file.
